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I’m writing from Pensacola, Florida.
We’re at the tail end of the annual family beach trip. We’ve already boogie boarded, built sand castles, caught fish, hunted crabs, eaten until our bellies bulged and taken long, sandy walks up the Emerald Coast.
We’ve been coming to Pensacola Beach since I was three. Back then, my entire extended family on my mom’s side made the trip. These days, it’s just my parents, my wife, and kids.
Though the group has changed, much remains the same. We still eat at Flounders and Native Café. We still take naps and read as many paperbacks as possible. The boardwalk remains a favorite stop. The kids can’t pass by Alvin’s Island without begging for a new toy.
My wife and I got engaged on this beach. We came alone once when I was still coaching. This was early on in our marriage. I needed a real vacation more at that moment than I’d ever needed anything. I needed to get away from the stress of being a 26-year-old head coach. I needed a break, but work intruded and I spent the last couple days of that trip on the phone doing damage control.
I’m trying not to let that happen now. Being an author is different from being a coach, but it’s demanding all the same. At this very moment, the deadline for my third book is mere days away. Still, I’ve refrained from opening the laptop. Instead, I’ve spent as much time as I can reading and fishing and swimming with the kids.
Last night, my wife and I had a date night. This is something we started doing after we had kids. Coming to the beach with kids is great. It’s kind of like Christmas in July, but it’s also a lot of work. Every morning, I haul a wagon full of toys, metal chairs, tents, nets, goggles and snorkels down to the beach. It’s hot down here. The kids wear out fast and often forget something up in the room.
I say all of that to say that our kid-free date night is a godsend (much love and many thanks to my parents for the gift!).
We always go to the Cactus Flower, then walk around downtown Pensacola and peruse the local art galleries. After that, we bar hop a little bit before winding up back at the water again.
This year, we capped off our date with drinks at the Sneaky Tiki. We were overlooking the bay, watching the lights on a sailboat flicker. We reminisced on the last ten years of our marriage. We dreamed about the next ten, and the ten after that. We considered learning to sail. We asked each other what our hopes were for our children, our family.
Waves lapped and channel markers flashed red then green as we offered our answers to the night.
Don't Know Tough
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In Denton, Arkansas, the fate of the high school football team rests on the shoulders of Billy Lowe, a volatile but talented running back. Billy comes from an extremely troubled home: a trailer park where he is terrorized by his mother’s abusive boyfriend. Billy takes out his anger on the field, but when his savagery crosses a line, he faces suspension.
Without Billy Lowe, the Denton Pirates can kiss their playoff bid goodbye. But the head coach, Trent Powers, who just moved from California with his wife and two children for this job, has more than just his paycheck riding on Billy’s bad behavior. As a born-again Christian, Trent feels a divine calling to save Billy—save him from his circumstances, and save his soul.
Then Billy’s abuser is found murdered in the Lowe family trailer, and all evidence points toward Billy. Now nothing can stop an explosive chain of violence that could tear the whole town apart on the eve of the playoffs. |
Ozark Dogs
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In this Southern thriller, two families grapple with the aftermath of a murder in their small Arkansas town.
After his son is convicted of capital murder, Vietnam War veteran Jeremiah Fitzjurls takes over the care of his granddaughter, Joanna, raising her with as much warmth as can be found in an Ozark junkyard outfitted to be an armory. He teaches her how to shoot and fight, but there is not enough training in the world to protect her when the dreaded Ledfords, notorious meth dealers and fanatical white supremacists, come to collect on Joanna as payment for a long-overdue blood debt.
Headed by rancorous patriarch Bunn and smooth-talking, erudite Evail, the Ledfords have never forgotten what the Fitzjurls family did to them, and they will not be satisfied until they have taken an eye for an eye. As they seek revenge, and as Jeremiah desperately searches for his granddaughter, their narratives collide in this immersive story about family and how far some will go to honor, defend—or in some cases, destroy it. |
Previous columns: |
• Writing From: Crooked Creek
• Writing from a Nursing Home
• Writing from a Firework Tent
• Writing from a Boat
• Writing from the Stars
• Writing from the Pool
• Writing from the Kitchen
• Writing from Summer
• Writing from Kindergarten
• Writing from Mom
• Writing from a Plane
• Writing from Home
• My second novel’s publication
• A New Marriage Milestone
• An Invitation to the Party
• Writing from a Thunderstorm
• Writing from a Soundbooth
• Writing from “Jazz Beach"
• Writing from the Sabbath
• Writing from somewhere between Little Rock and Russellville
• Writing from my back deck
• Writing from the morning of my thirty-fifth year
• Writing on the day of the college football National Championship
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• Writing from the space between breaths
• Writing from 2022
• Writing from the glow of a plastic Christmas tree
• Writing on a rollercoaster of triumph and disaster
• Writing from the drop-off line at my daughter’s elementary school
• Writing with Thanksgiving on my mind
• Writing from the crowd before the start of a Shovels & Rope show
• Writing from the depths of a post-book-festival hangover
• Writing from the Ron Robinson Theatre
• Writing to you on Halloween Eve
• Writing from my bed on a Saturday morning
• Writing from my office with two darts clenched in my left hand
• Writing from the shade of my favorite tree
• Writing from my desk on a Tuesday morning
• Writing from a pirate ship
• Writing from the airport
• Writing from the hospital
• I'm writing from the water
• Writing from my wife's Honda Pilot
• Writing from my office |
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